Page 32 of Match Point

“A little bit but I’ll get over it. On three?” he asked.

“On three.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Leo gripped the tennis racket and braced himself. Tucker had given him about five minutes’ instruction, a brief tutorial that wouldn’t be worth jack shit against a strong player like Sorcha.

“Ready?” She wore the same smirk as when she’d beat him at arm wrestling.

“No, but that’s not going to stop you.”

She shook her head. “I’d promise to be gentle but where’s the fun in that?”

“Just serve the damn ball.” I’ll try not to wince when it hits me.

He readied the racket and managed to hit the ball back to her. She returned the stroke, legs bunching. After a few more exchanges over the net, he missed the last ball.

Despite her smack talk, she was taking it easy on him, he could tell.

“Hey, you’re a natural at this,” Tucker said. “Keep her occupied while I use the facilities.”

“Will do, Coach.” Leo had been blessed with eye-hand coordination and picked up on things fast, a must when dealing with logistics. He’d been in charge of moving weapons resources from mobile units to tactical strongholds in South America where the US Army and the Guatemalan Army worked together to stop the movement of drugs into the US.

Guatemala; country full of poverty and violence, the same kind of place his mother had been deported to after his father lost his life while serving his country. The irony was not lost on Leo.

He hit the ball back with more force than he intended, and it barely cleared the net, bouncing into the singles sideline.

Sorcha ran to it, her feet flying across the court, but the ball went out of bounds.

She dropped the racket to her side, fingers flexing over the handle. “Nice one. Can you do it again? I need to spice it up a bit. I’ve never been good at practicing by myself.”

“We can get you a workout partner if that’s what you need.” Leo took the ball and moved back to the center mark.

“Let’s see what my trainer can do right now, then we’ll talk.” Sorcha resumed her position, racket at the ready.

He wished he could see her eyes behind her sunglasses. Her expression was deadpan, mouth parted. Inhaling, he bounced the ball on the ground and performed a half-assed served that managed to get over the net, this time shooting out of bounds.

“No pressure,” Sorcha said, pressing her lips together and licking her teeth. She was trying to psyche him out.

He weighed the ball in his hand. He’d been doing his homework and read a few pro tips that stuck. As with any sport, velocity and the speed at impact could sway the outcome along with strategy. The acceleration of his racket combined with the shift of his weight would give maximum impact with minimal effort. Whether he could manage to execute the concept was a different story.

The racket hit the ball and the reverberation traveled along his forearm and down to his elbow. It sailed over the net and she caught it with a loud grunt, her jaw clenching. He nodded, rushing to the net and returning the ball. His chest expanded, thrilled as shit with himself, and then she crushed him in one perfectly timed shot that hit inches inside the baseline.

She twisted around, hands on her hips, shoulders flexing before she bent at the waist and stretched her legs. The ends of her ponytail brushed the ground, the curve of her bottom showing creamy from beneath her skirt.

Was she in pain or simply trying to distract him? Because damn it if it wasn’t distracting as hell. “Do you need a break?”

She dropped her head lower and gazed at him from between her knees, face flushed. “I’m stretching for a minute. I didn’t expect such a hard ball from a novice.”

He could go a hundred different ways with that remark, and man, did he want to. Except he wasn’t there to flirt with her, he was there to get her into peak physical shape. “Luck?”

Sorcha straightened and turned back to face him. The front of her shirt was soaked and her skin glistened. “No, I don’t think it was luck. Are you ready for another round?”

“You don’t think it was luck? I assure you; I’ve never played tennis before.” Leo walked backward to his mark, his eyes never leaving her face. She continued to confuse him with her many mood swings. One minute she was a flirt, the next she was telling him how much she hated him. She was never humble but always humbled by the smallest things, like nursing the boy after she’d hit him.

“I think you have a natural athletic ability and you like math, which I’m guessing is what you’re applying to our little game here. Grams taught you well.”

“Yes, she did.” Leo served the ball, not used to compliments from Sorcha. The suspicious part of him wanted to know what she was up to, while the needy side of him wanted her approval.

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